Jinx is already spreading them across the bed, sorting through pages with quick, practiced movements. His whistle is low and impressed.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "This is everything. Bank transfers. Shell company registrations. Minutes from Custodian meetings going back fifteen years." He holds up a page. "Look at this. Authorization for Phase Two funding. Signed by three Custodian lines. And someone else. Oh… fuck."
He reads the names aloud.
"Edmund Holloway." Already dead. Jagger killed him.
"Victor Harrington." I recognize that name. One of the old families. Connected to everything.
"And Alfred Webb." Also dead. Very dead.
"That’s weird. We don’t have a Chen holding power, but there’s one listed here. A Margaret Chen." My blood goes cold. Chen. My name.
"Two down," Jinx says. "Two to go."
Jace takes another stack, flipping through them. "Facility locations. Six total. Four active, two decommissioned. Geneva, Singapore, Buenos Aires, Johannesburg. The closed ones are in Ukraine and Thailand."
"Children's numbers?" Elliot asks, his voice tight.
"Manifests here." Jace pulls a page. "Current count across all active facilities is... Jesus. A hundred at least.”
A hundred kids… manufactured and raised as weapons. Living the same childhood that created the man sitting beside me.
"Ages?" Jagger asks.
"Ranges from infant to sixteen. The oldest cohort is scheduled for Foundry transfer in six months."
"Then we have six months to get them out."
Jinx has found another folder, this one thicker than the rest. "Personnel files. Dr. Elena Andros—she's listed as Chief Research Director for the Geneva facility. And look at this." He holds up a photograph. "Staff photo from 2019. Recognize anyone?"
The image shows a group of people in white coats, standing in front of a building I recognize from our research. In the center is a woman with dark hair pulled back from her face. The woman from my memories.
"Andros," I say. "That's her."
"Current status: active. Last known location: Geneva facility." Jinx sets down the photo. "She's still there. Still running the program."
"Not for long," Jagger says quietly.
More documents. More evidence. Wire transfer receipts showing millions flowing from Custodian accounts to facility operating budgets. Correspondence discussing "subject viability" and "optimization protocols" in language so clinical it takes a moment to realize they're talking about children. A memo from Victor Harrington himself, approving the expansion of the Buenos Aires facility to accommodate "increased production demands."
Production. Like they're manufacturing products. Like the children are inventory.
"This is enough," Jace says finally. "This is more than enough. With these documents, we could bring down the entire structure."
"Not could," I say. "Will."
But I'm not listening anymore. I'm staring at the name on the page, trying to process what I'm seeing.
Margaret Chen.
"Jonah?" Jagger's hand is on my arm. "What is it?"
"Chen." My voice sounds far away as a memory from my childhood slams into me. "Margaret Chen. That's... that was my grandmother's name."
The room goes silent.
"Your grandmother?" Jace has appeared in the doorway, Elliot behind him. "Are you sure?"
